Jan. 3, 2020: I wrote this in my notes app…
Been doing a lot of thinking about songs and how they can tie to bittersweet memories. “The Peace of Wild Things” is running through my head forward and backward. What it means to me is so much more than its message, its frantic piano introduction or melancholy, dissonant chords…
It represents the start of a journey. It was a painful journey, yet it also held so many moments of joy that I can’t help but stay a little attached to it. I couldn’t possibly block out five months of my life from all memory.
The baritone/bass section that flows up from submersion and displays itself in subtle grandeur is floating out into the air, intermingled with the high “ooh”s there to support the story happening below them. The audience is at the edge of their seat for the main event. The chorus begins.
With its own ebb and flow, so very linked to the imagery in the lyrics, the mood of the choir transcends from hopelessness to freedom.
Feb. 7, 2024: I listened to it again…
… because I needed to cry. I had just left a tense situation with my best friend and had a big day in the morning. (In fact, we both had a big day ahead of us.) So, I placed my phone on my chest as I lay on my bed, letting the tears roll.
They just fall so naturally when I listen to it.
I’m not entirely sure why this song, adapted from a poem, unlocks such deep emotions in me. My working theory has to do with my having sung it in high school choir (specifically, as the “main course” song during Choral Fest). Our director gave us a “why” for the piece; I don’t remember what it was, but it clearly affected me.
What also may have affected me was hearing – in piercing clarity – my then-boyfriend singing with the basses behind me. Unfortunately, he was a good singer. I thought he made the song beautiful. I thought I, too, made it beautiful. Of course, I can see now that neither of us made it that way – “The Peace of Wild Things” is just an incredibly well-constructed song. When I listen to it, though, I can almost hear him creeping into the bass section.
A lot of things were lost to me since we were together: I become agitated when I smell a specific cologne now; I’ve blocked out a significant portion of my junior year from my memory; I get triggered when people confront me with a certain tone of voice (which I now recognize was eerily similar to my friend’s vocal posture that night). Yet this song remains special to me. Like I wrote in 2020, it’s bittersweet.
My ex may have fucked me up all those years ago, but what did I do to heal? I “came into the peace of wild things,” without the influence of a significant other, without the looming threat of abuse. I turned back to my inner nature and journeyed inward home, an unknowing prodigal son to myself.
This song has become a touchstone for me in times of duress. Perhaps it can be that to other survivors.
The Peace of Wild Things
“When despair for the world grows in meAnd I wake in the night at the least soundIn fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,I go and lie down where the wood drakeRests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.I come into the peace of wild thingsWho do not tax their lives with forethoughtOf grief. I come into the presence of still waterAnd I feel above me the day-blind starsWaiting with their light. For a timeI rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”⁃Wendell Berry